


Diamonds are Forever

by dreamsofdramione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Magic, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memory Loss, Post-War, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: Memories may be fickle, but diamonds are forever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 25
Kudos: 166
Collections: DH, Twistmas 2019 - A Dark Remix Xmas Fest





	Diamonds are Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Diamonds
> 
> Part of The Slytherin Cabal & Dramione Fanfiction Forum’s Twistmas 2019 - A Dark Remix Xmas Fest

Flakes of snow dusted the window, a soft pillow of white collecting along the sill as Hermione blinked once, then twice, trying to figure out where, who, and what she was. 

Silk sheets caressed every curve. She tried to twitch, but couldn’t seem to move. A tree sat in the far corner of the vast room—topped with a glinting star and wrapped in swaths of silk. Baubles of all sizes hung from every limb, and though she didn’t understand what it was, she found herself staring at the elegance of the strange thing. 

Her eyes were out of focus; each puff of air sliced down her throat, and somehow, someway, she just knew something wasn’t quite right. 

Something clicked shut across the room, but her bleary eyes stayed fixed on the twinkling lights. As footsteps drew closer, she remained stone-still.

“You-you’re awake?” Apparently she was, though she couldn’t seem to speak. “Merry Christmas, love. You’re the best present I could have ever hoped for.”

* * *

Everything around Hermione felt wrong. 

Her mouth was too dry, her limbs too heavy, and an overwhelming exhaustion soaked into the very marrow of her bones.

Days felt too long and nights not nearly long enough.

Looking around the now-familiar room, her eyes skated over the ornate vanity, dark wood with gleaming silver handles, polished up to shine like a piece of jewellry itself. Curtains draped over the large windows, muffling the dimming light outside. It had been a good night—well, as good as could be expected. 

Dinner had been lovely—an elaborate roasted duck with too many sides and a decadent dessert. Despite the alluring meal, her stomach had been tied in knots, unable to appreciate the few bites she’d taken. Draco had noticed, of course, a sympathetic smile twisted on his lips. He’d been doing that a lot lately, doting over her every minute, spinning the shiny diamond around her ring finger and whispering reassurances that she’d _ ‘return to normal shortly’ _ between featherlight kisses. 

If she had to go through this with anyone, having Draco was truly a stroke of luck. She silently thanked her former self time and again for the choices she’d made—even if she couldn’t quite remember them now. 

“Are you ready, love?” The silken drawl of his voice pulled Hermione from her reverie, and she spun around in the little gilded chair made to match her vanity perfectly. 

“Just about. Give me another minute, and I’ll be right down.” Curling her lips in a lopsided smile, she tried her hardest to will a look of contentment onto her features. Whether or not he believed it remained to be seen, but the way he lingered in the doorway for a moment too long was telling. 

The door closed with a soft click, and Hermione spun around once more to inspect herself in the ornate mirror. The bags under her eyes grew more pronounced with each passing day, and her cheeks looked pallid, sunken in and painted with shadows no charm could seem to cover.

Slipping out of her dinner gown and into a silky negligee, she prepared herself for another night of unrest that was sure to drag on until the early hours of the morning. 

* * *

It was odd—having someone inside her mind. 

Images flooded her consciousness, and she saw a bushy-haired girl laughing alongside two boys who looked vaguely familiar. There was a scar carved in the brunet’s forehead and his glasses were slightly askew, a detail she now knew was a rather common occurrence. The other boy with fiery red hair and a crooked smile wrapped his arm around the girl’s shoulders. A castle perched up on a hill served as the backdrop. Despite cataloguing every detail she could about the scene, none of it felt familiar. 

She couldn’t speak while he was inside of her mind, but her thoughts must have been loud enough, because the picture dissolved behind her eyelids, and the feeling of him slithering out of her consciousness made her shiver. Opening her eyes, she saw steel grey staring back at her.

“Anything?” It was sad, really, the hint of hope that coloured the word. 

She couldn’t quite say it, that two-letter word that would surely taint his latest effort, so she simply shook her head instead. 

A warm palm slid up her arm, squeezing her shoulder, and she watched as his features fell, tinged with a sadness she felt wholly responsible for. “I’m sorry, Draco. I—”

“It’s all right, Hermione. We’ll keep trying.”

As much as she wanted to agree, to nod enthusiastically and say whatever might make him smile again, she couldn’t. There was an ache in her chest, a hole in the very centre of her heart, and even  _ he _ couldn’t seem to fill it. Hell, she wasn’t even sure  _ why _ everything hurt. 

Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, then her cheek, tracing down the length of her jaw until he reached the corner of her lips. Tilting her head just so, Hermione pillowed her lips against his, pouring every ounce of emotion swirling within her into the kiss. 

Without him, she’d be lost. Without him, none of this would make any sense at all. Without him, she feared, she may simply cease to exist. The last thought gave her pause for just a moment before the sweep of his tongue against the seam of her lips dissolved any semblance of rationale and she lost herself in the warmth of his embrace. 

Memories were finicky business according to the plethora of ancient tomes she’d poured over in the last few weeks. When coupled with traumatic events, some texts mentioned they may never return.

* * *

“Remind me again what happened?” She did this every night, asking the same questions and pouring over every calculated word. 

His answer was always the same.

“You had an accident, love. A curse rebounded and knocked you unconscious on a mission. St. Mungo’s said it was lucky you were even alive. I didn’t know—”

“You were there, right?” 

Nodding, his Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed hard enough for her to hear. Granted, they were incredibly close, wrapped around one another in the much too large bed, tucked between emerald green sheets and winding down after another tiring day. 

“And do you know who did it? The curse, I mean.”

“I do.” He whispered his words so low she barely heard him. “He’s been… taken care of.”

She didn’t need him to say another word to understand exactly what he meant. Instead, she wrapped an arm tighter around him and settled her cheek against the plane of his chest, letting the steady rise and fall mark the moments as they ticked by. 

Steeping in the silence as it stretched between them, she mustered up every bit of courage she could summon and took a deep breath, preparing herself for a question she hadn’t asked before.

“Who was I... back then?”

“You were—” Draco shifted, sitting back against the headboard and pulling her up to catch her gaze. “You were loved, Hermione. Above all else, you were so loved in the years before all of this happened. You were brave and brash in the best ways. Stubborn to a fault and all too willing to throw yourself into every unjust cause and crusade on everyone else’s behalf. You were smart— _ so  _ smart that even I couldn’t best you in school. You read everything you could get your hands on with vigour and always wanted more. You never met a bookstore you didn’t love. Your favourite book was always  _ Hogwarts: A History _ , though, truthfully, love, if we could change that this time around I’d be so very grateful. It’s a rather dry text.”

The wealth of knowledge was nearly overwhelming. All the little pieces of things she’d felt in the past felt like whispers of wind she couldn’t hear just yet, but they still seemed closer than they ever had. Pressing a kiss against his chest, she muttered, “Go on. What didn’t I like?”

“You hated Divination, probably still do considering… Well,  _ everything _ .” Lean fingers curled around her palm, twisting the gleaming ring around and around as he watched fragments of moonlight catch against the ornate stones. “You hated me back in school.”

She laughed at that and watched as his lips curled into the smallest of smiles. 

“You did. You even slapped me once.”

Reaching up to trace the curve of his cheek then the bridge of his nose, she said, “I can see it. Just here, right?”

He may have swatted her hand away, but he laughed as he did so, and she smiled in response. “You were— _ are _ —everything good in this world or the next. You are hope wrapped in a fearless package, and I don’t even know if words could truly encompass who you are or who you have yet to become.”

Words may not have been able to adequately sum up the whole of her parts, but every one of them he gave her felt right. Even though she wasn’t sure who she might have been once upon a time, she vowed to channel the girl he recalled—to become the witch he fell in love with instead of the one so helplessly dependent upon his devotion.

* * *

Time heals all wounds, or so she’d read, but that wasn’t exactly true.

The book in her hands looked so familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. Tracing the dips and curves of the embossed title, she watched the diamond ring on her finger shimmer with each twist of her wrist as she felt a rogue tear slip down her cheek.

_ Hogwarts: A History _ was cradled between her palms, and something about it called to her from the shelf after Draco had mentioned it just days before. For over an hour she’d been flipping through pages, reading here and there and trying to jog a hint of a memory. 

Half-formed images nudged the edge of her mind, and Hermione flexed her fingers over the worn cover. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the fragments of her memories, nothing would fully form.

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks in earnest as she gripped the text tighter, willing herself to remember any little thing she could. 

She knew he was there before the door even opened, attuned to his very essence from their time together already. Heavy steps moved towards her perch on the cushion decorating the stained glass window seat, and when he reached for her, she melted into his embrace. 

Warmth. Safety. 

_ Home. _

That’s what he was to her, the single safe space in the vast chasm of her life. 

Slotting herself in the space between his arms that felt as though it was moulded just for her, Hermione let herself fracture and fall apart in the stillness of the library. Just as he had every other time when everything felt like it was too much to bear, he held her tighter, whispering reassurances against her skin and sealing them each with a kiss. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

“I can’t read it.” The whispered words felt shameful as they inelegantly tumbled from her lips. “I-I try, and I can get a few pages in but then my head hurts and I—and I…” she paused, sucking in a breath and willing the tears to subside. “I just  _ can’t _ .”

Guiding her head back with the firm press of his palm against her jaw, Draco’s eyes skated over her features, taking a few moments to linger on the dip of her lips, the curve of her chin, the sweep of her cheek. She felt like a text, a topic, like somehow he’d studied her in ways she could never study herself. Like somehow he was the expert and she was just a student in the subject of herself. 

“It’s just a result of the accident. We’ll figure it out together. You’ll always have me, Hermione.”

And somehow, she knew that to be true. She knew the man who’d customised his entire stately home to house her on even her worst days—the man who’d stocked the library shelves with relevant tomes and the kitchens with the few foods she could seem to keep down—meant every word. 

“I love you.” Even without the knowledge of who she was, who she’d been, or what life they’d lead before it all, she knew  _ that _ to be the truth. 

* * *

Three days.

Hermione had been staring at the same ancient book for three days and the only thing she’d come away with was a vicious headache that no potion could seem to mend. Though most potions were off-limits after her accident, Draco had said a healer had approved the use of a light pain draught on rare occasions. Even with the blessing of some healer she had yet to meet, the headaches never went away.

Some small, stupid part of her had hoped the pain was some side effect from memories trying to force their way back in, but thus far, she’d been sorely disappointed. 

Tucked behind the far row of shelves, Hermione sequestered herself away to study the text for hours on end. After today, she swore to herself, she’d stop. She’d give herself just one more attempt to conjure the memories before trying something else. 

According to Draco, she’d always been stubborn, and despite the lack of practical memory on the subject, the indignation she felt at that moment told her it was true. 

As she leaned back against the bookshelf, the words swam on the pages before her, twisting and swirling into gibberish that made sense in theory but had no basis of fact in any sense of practical knowledge. There were very few things she treasured in this new life, but it seemed in her last, her mind was her most prized possession, and feeling as though she was a stranger amongst her own thoughts was slowly wearing down her resolve. 

Time dragged on in the slowest of seconds, the most mundane of minutes, and each breath she took brought her closer to the darkness of night. Torches flickered to life along the elaborate sconces and the tremble of her hand as she turned a page near the back signalled Hermione to her own fatigue. 

Draco was lingering outside the heavy wooden doors to the library. He wasn’t making a single sound, but she’d heard him pacing off and on earlier. The squeak of a hinge that she noted needed repair caused her to shut the book still laid out upon her lap. Gathering herself, she stood and called out to him. 

In no time at all, he was standing before her, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his robes and a hint of worry etched in the tension of his jaw. She knew he was worried. She knew he’d devoted nearly every waking hour to her health, her well-being, and in the wake of it, he’d failed to care for himself. Her heart clenched as she observed the wrinkles in his robes and the way tufts of white-blond hair stood in nearly every direction. It was a nervous tick, one she found entirely too endearing. He’d card long fingers through wisps of platinum locks and twist the strands into soft peaks before starting all over again. 

She couldn’t do this to him. Not again. Not after the hoops he’d jumped through to acclimate her after the accident. 

Curling a palm around his neck, Hermione stood on the tips of her toes to brush a light kiss against his swollen lips. She could tell he’d been chewing on them, and she wanted nothing more than to quell the nervous energy radiating from his stiff form. “I’m sorry I—”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning down for a firmer kiss this time. It was simple, sweet, just the press of his lips against hers as he sighed. “I don’t want to keep you from—”

“I do. Draco, I—I,” sucking in a breath, she made sure to look him straight in those silver eyes, studying each and every fleck of blue nestled against his irises. “I don’t want to try anymore.” It came out as a whisper, puffed out in a single breath, and she swore it was tangible as the sentiment hung heavy in the scant space. “If this is my life,” she started, leaning in again, lips brushing over his as she spoke, “I want it with you. Just like this. Memories or not.”

His muscles unfurled beneath her fingertips, tension bleeding from them in record speed as he captured her lips in an urgent kiss. Sweeps of his tongue made her knees quiver as the enormity of the situation settled around them. “I love you,” he whispered, and she echoed it back without a second thought. 

They stayed like that for a while, her back pressed against a shelf and his hands forging paths down the curve of her sides, skating over her ribs, squeezing the swell of her hips. It was as though he wanted to memorise her through his fingertips alone, and she had no inclination to stop him. 

As wrong as nearly everything else felt in her life, every facet of his touch—his  _ love— _ felt right. The curves of her waist fit into the space between his palms, hand splayed wide against the dip of her spine, thumbs curled into the soft flesh just below her ribs. 

Maybe in another life, she’d have filled out a bit more, had meat between her bones. In this one, with her stomach protesting every bite and the thirst still coating her mouth as water went down like ash, she was rail thin, fragile beneath his grip. Despite her perceived flaws, his touch was reverent, worshipping every centimetre of her form. 

Maybe in another life her skin had held colour from seeing the sight of the sun, from days spent nestled amongst the grass with the man she loved, trading kisses and teasing touches. In this one she was pale, all colour sapped away. Her tone mirrored Draco’s—bleak, sallow, and devoid of even a hint of life. Alone she felt ghastly, unsightly, but together they were beautiful. A matched set. 

She had never gone outside. The sun was too bright, too harsh against her pale skin and the gardens felt foreboding when blanketed by darkness. Even under the thick layer of twinkling stars she stared at on the nights that sleep eluded her, everything outside the safety of the manor’s walls, the safety of Draco’s arms, felt dangerous in a way she wasn’t ready to test. 

“Let me draw you a bath,” he mumbled, pressing the tips of lean fingers into the nape of her neck, dotting kisses along her hairline. 

“That sounds lovely.”

* * *

Warmth eluded her more often than not. It was as though a chill reached the very depths of her soul. The manor was large, stone, and drafty no matter the season, but the creeping cold sensation was there even beneath the thickest of blankets. 

It had clung to her since the first time she’d woken up with Draco hovering over her, pressing a kiss to her palm. Then, when she’d felt the warmth of his lips, she’d leaned into it, soaking up every stitch of heat she could. Even now, nothing quite matched the fever she’d reach when wrapped around him in the most intimate way. Nothing could make her feel as whole, as sated, as completely and utterly safe as she did when he held her close, sharing the very breath from his lungs. 

The bath was a close second to that inferno, the scalding water searing every curve it could reach. In the tub, it felt like a fire hovering just outside the barrier of her thin skin. With Draco, it felt like an ember stoked to life from deep within herself. 

Swishing the water around, watching the bubbles swirl and shimmer, she felt more than heard Draco as he entered their bathroom. 

She’d expected him to approach her, to kneel next to the tub and rub every inch of her with soap as he’d done every other time she’d bathed, but he simply stood in the doorway, mouth agape.

“What are you doing?” It sounded raspy, laced with confusion and thick with some meaning she couldn’t puzzle out. 

“I thought you told me to take a bath.” She blinked once, twice, three times, before he took a few short steps and kneeled down at the edge of the tub. 

Long, pale fingers hovered in the air for just a moment before reaching forward and lifting the fabric of her blouse. “Why are you still wearing your clothes, love?”

“I—oh.” Glancing down, she saw that she was still fully clothed. It seemed stupid, really, that she would take a bath and forget to shed her layers first. It seemed simple, like a reflex that should have happened naturally without a thought. But it hadn’t, and she hadn’t even noticed. Somehow, the latter was far worse. An ache thrummed to life in her chest and tears welled in her eyes as she stared down the length of her body. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. Her bloody shoes, of all things, were what snapped the thread inside of her, the sight of them sending searing tears down the curve of her cheeks. 

Leaning his cheek against the mess of sopping curls, Draco wound an arm around her waist, pulling her into the circle of his arms and soaking himself in the process. 

She hated crying most of all. The tears tracking down her cheeks made her furious. They were her weakest moments embodied in pools of liquid frustration, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop. There was something about crying in the bath, fully clothed with the man she loved holding her that made it all worse. Not only was she still broken in ways she didn’t understand, haphazardly strewn pieces floating in the abyss with no inkling of how to piece herself back together, but he was witnessing her fall apart— _ again.  _

He deserved so much more than this sham of an existence, sequestered in the walls of the manor and willing her to remember who she once was. He deserved the love he gave in tenfold. He’d once said she’d hated him in their youth, but knowing nothing other than the man he’d become, the man who was more patient with her than she was with herself, she couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything but an overwhelming sense of love for him. 

Helping her out of the bath, he peeled each dripping layer off her body, slowly inching the fabric away from her skin. Untying her boots with care, he slipped each one off and placed them to the side before curling his fingers into her socks and pulling them off as well. 

She should try to help him, if just the smallest bit. Wrapping two fingers around her glistening ring, she barely had time to even twist it before his hand stopped her movements. “Leave it,” he whispered, bringing her hand up to place a featherlight kiss against each of her fingers, eyes lingering on the shimmer of the stone. “It reminds me that you’re mine. In a life where I never could have dreamed of such a fate, it reminds me that I was lucky enough to have you.”

Pressing her bare curves against the thick fabric of his robes, Hermione wound her arms around Draco’s neck, moulding her drenched body flush against every one of his angles as she kissed him until the sopping wet clothes in the corner no longer mattered. 

* * *

Magic.

He’d told her she was magic, and not just in the figurative sense she’d read about, but in the literal, wand-wielding, spell-chanting way she’d dreamed about even when it hadn’t made sense yet. He’d guarded her for the first few weeks, slowly reintroducing her to normal everyday charms and working his way up to dissolving the illusion he’d placed on the library to mask every magical book. For weeks she’d read about spells and incantations, watched him practise brewing potions, and absorbed every ounce of knowledge on the fascinating subject she could. 

Holding it in her very hands, though, was something else entirely.

A sizzle of sensation tickled her fingertips as she flexed her fingers around Draco’s wand. “Okay, so repeat after me.” Hermione nodded at his instructions, pointing the wand the way he’d instructed at the piece of parchment on the desk. “Wing-guard-dee-um lev-ee-oh-sa.”

With a flick of her wrist, she twisted the wand and repeated the strange words. The parchment twitched for just a moment before stilling once more. Huffing out a breath, she tried again, and again, and again, frustration colouring her tone further with each repetition. 

Too wrapped up in her own ire, she hadn’t heard Draco move behind her, pulling her back into his chest and murmuring, “It’ll be okay,” against the shell of her ear. His lips grazed the sensitive skin along the column of her throat, promises of another day and muttered words of adoration sinking into herskin as tried and failed again. 

It crackled with life along the lines of her veins, swirling around in her chest and shooting along the length of her extremities. But even though she could feel it coursing with life inside of her, she couldn’t seem to channel her own magic into a mere elementary spell. 

* * *

Flames licked the soot-covered bricks of the fireplace, dancing along the edges of the opening, before dying back down and doing it all over again. It was dirtier than usual, ash littering the floor, and she studied the remnants of what had already burned. There were corners of parchment and flakes of thin white ash dancing beneath the blaze. 

But there was something else there, too. 

Something thicker, bigger, and so very unlike every other bit of soot dusting the bottom bricks. Grabbing a poker, Hermione hooked the curve around the strange object and pulled it forward.

If she’d been any less familiar with what it once was, she might not have been able to trace it. If her fingers hadn’t skimmed every corner of the book and every curl of every letter and embellishment, she might not have known. But as it was, she recognized the lilt of the top of an H, the gold decorations embossed along the edges of the cover. The book that had caused her such strife was reduced to no more than dust. 

He’d burned it. That much was obvious, and when she gave it a moment of thought, Hermione thought she understood why. A pang of guilt thumped in her chest as she tossed the little piece back in the fire and watched as it disintegrated before her very eyes. 

* * *

The silky sheets cooled quickly after he’d left a few moments before. It’d seemed urgent at the time, as he hopped up and dropped a quick kiss to her temple before promising to return in no time at all. 

Muffled voices carried down the hall, presumably from his study, and she toyed with the idea of slipping something on to check on him. Oversized rooms and empty hallways weren’t exactly inviting cloaked under the cover of night, but neither was the bed wrapped in sheets that barely held an ounce of his warmth anymore. Pushing off the edge, she slid on a pair of green slippers and grabbed his house robe, wrapping it around her thin frame. 

As quietly as she could, Hermione padded down the hallway, drawn towards a voice she had never heard before. Or if she had, her memories had yet to divulge the information of to whom it belonged. It sounded a bit like Draco’s own drawl, yet raspier, as though years of talking had worn down the vocal cords of the mysterious wizard. Her fiancé’s own voice sounded shortly after that, and though she was only a few feet from the door, their voices were now lower and she couldn’t make out whatever they were discussing. 

Leaning on the barely open door, she saw Draco crouched down in front of the fireplace in his study. Green flames danced around the edges, but she couldn’t spot another person in the room. He’d once told her about Floo calls, a magical communication technique utilizing certain fireplaces, and she wondered if that was what she was witnessing. 

Pushing in just a hair more, the door squeaked before Draco whipped around, pointing his wand at the green flames and extinguishing whatever was going on. 

“Is everything all right?” Furrowing her brow, Hermione watched as Draco took a few long strides and stood before her. He looked flushed, possibly a bit flustered. A frown curled at the edges of her lips.

“Fine. Why did you get out of bed?” Taking her hands in his, he twirled the ring around her finger in that way that seemed to soothe him. 

“I thought I heard someone. I was just coming to make sure everything was okay.”

Drawing a delicate hand up to his lips, Draco pressed a kiss to her ring finger before moving to each of the others and doing the same. “Never better.” Looking up through thick blond lashes, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

* * *

“Maybe it’s the ring. Is it possible there’s a charm on it or something that would interfere?” It wasn’t exactly her best idea, but she was running low on hope. As such, she clung to even the thinnest explanation. 

“It wouldn’t have any effect. Here.” Twisting her wrist just a hair, he closed his hand over hers. “Let’s try it like this.”

Repeating the same swirling motion she’d practised a hundred times that day already, Hermione whispered, “Lumos.”

At the very tip of his wand, a small spark fizzled out after only a second. 

But it  _ had  _ been there.

“Step back,” she whispered, elated and nervous all at once as she tried again. This time, though, even performing the exact same steps, nothing happened. The spell spilt from her lips over and over and over again, her wrist tilted  _ just so _ and her fingers tingling, but there was still no sign of another spark.

Huffing, she was about to try again when Draco’s hand gripped her shoulder from behind, his chest pressing against her back. One lean arm wrapped around her waist from behind and his lips caressed the tender skin on the column of her throat as she willed back the tears threatening to fall. 

“Lumos!” With little fanfare, a spark lit once more, holding this time in a steady glow. 

Hermione’s eyes grew wide, a smile creeping across her lips as she tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder. 

“I knew you could do it, love.” His words were like a balm to her aching soul, and she felt his warmth seep into her, his pride calming her previous storm of emotions. 

* * *

Dusting another layer of foundation across her cheeks, Hermione studied herself in the mirror. The gown Draco had selected was gorgeous, hanging across the room on the far door. She saw it in the reflection, a perfect match for the emeralds in her ring. It was long, heavy, and made of some thick material, likely a personal touch because he knew how cold she could get in the drafty old manor. 

There had to be ten layers of foundation on the exact same spot, but she swore the colour still didn’t match the rest of her face. It looked dim, greying, as though that patch of skin simply wouldn’t hold the smoothing charm imbued in the foundation he’d gifted her earlier in the day. 

He’d said it was a special day.

One year exactly since she’d recovered from her accident. And if that wasn’t reason enough to celebrate, it was Christmas. Though she didn’t fully understand what the latter meant.

Three hundred and sixty-five entire days had passed since she’d woken up on a snowy day in the large bed she now called home with the man who had stood by her every hour since. While everything still felt a tad off-kilter, and her stomach had never learned to like most of the foods his house-elves cooked, and the chill had yet to abate from her very being, she counted herself lucky to even be alive. 

The accident, as he’d said, was one that many wizards never recovered from, the spell some variety of nasty curse, but he’d told her ‘the sheer force of her will’ had brought her back afterwards, back to him, back to their life, and he counted every day after to be something of a miracle.

So, on the night that marked exactly one year into her new life, a life unburdened by memories of war or life-threatening situations, she found herself in her room, furiously brushing makeup across her still dark cheek and trying her hardest to make everything as perfect as it could be. For him. For them. For the new life the fates had gifted them so many moons ago.

* * *

Spread out like a feast on the too-long table in the vast room—empty save for herself and Draco across the wide expanse of wood—was every food imaginable. Warming charms were placed on each of the dishes, Draco had explained as he’d pulled out her chair and settled her in for the entire affair. An evergreen tree brushed the ceiling, draped in diamonds and sparkly baubles that caught the flickers of candlelight. It should have felt festive or celebratory, but her stomach rioted and the cool tingle in the tips of her fingers left her feeling anything but merry. Much like the night she’d first awoken in the manor, she studied the sway of the branches as glimmers of reflected light freckled the room. 

_ He’d cooked. _

Not the elves. 

Draco, himself, had cooked the meal laid out before her.

That little detail only served to make her feel more terrible about the state of her stomach. She’d taken at least one bite of everything, but it all tasted like soil and her mouth was too dry to even focus on any individual flavour. The wine went down like ash, and her stomach protested every bite she tried to smile through.

But he knew.

He could tell.

She could see the disappointment in his eyes that their perfect meal he’d slaved over for hours earlier was ruined by the state of her own being. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the soft clink of her fork tapping the edge of the still-full plate. “I know today is special for us and I just—”

“It’s okay, love. Don’t worry at all. Would you like some more wine?”

Shaking her head, Hermione watched as Draco vanished every last plate on the table before standing up and making his way around it to kneel next to her. Taking her hands in his and spinning the ring around a finger that was far too thin to house such an extravagant piece, she watched him heave a sigh and felt her heart clench in response. 

After a long beat of silence, he looked up to meet her gaze, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips, tilting just a hair. “Maybe next year. Let’s go open your presents.”

* * *

Red.

For the lack of colour on her entire body—the pasty complexion and grey tinge to her hair—her finger was fiery red. And itchy. 

Rubbing furiously at the skin around the band, she tried to slip it off, but it didn’t budge past her knuckle. Twisting and turning the family heirloom, she gripped and pulled and flexed and finagled it in every way imaginable until she heard Draco approaching from the loo. 

“What are you doing?” There was no ‘love’ or even the use of her given name. No, his tone was stern and his brow set as she stared at her with a vehemence in his eyes. 

“It hurts, Draco. My ring. The skin is irritated and it won’t come off and I’m trying to get it off but it wont—it wont—” For all the things Hermione didn’t know any longer, suddenly this felt like one even she could grasp. Low, so low she knew he might not even hear it, she whispered, “What did you do?”

Silence permeated the room as she stood there, jaw set and eyes tight. 

She willed her voice up a notch, asking again, “What did you do, Draco?”

He cleared his throat and his features took on an air of disinterest as he crawled into bed with her. “Nothing, love. I’ll grab my wand and fix the rash here in just a moment.”

“The rash? Draco, the ring won’t come off!”

“It’s fine.” Jaw ticking, she could see his calm demeanour fall back into place. “It’s nothing, really. I put a sticking charm on it after our talk in the bathroom all those months ago. I didn’t want to risk you losing such an important piece of jewellery.”

“You charmed my hand while I slept?” It shouldn’t have been a big deal, and the charm itself really wasn’t, but there was something he wasn’t telling her. He couldn’t even meet her eyes and it made her skin prickle in response. 

“I hope you don’t mind, love. Now let’s fix up that finger so we can go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

Sure enough, with two expect flicks of his wand and some unintelligible spell muttered under his breath, the angry red splotches subsided and left nothing behind but smooth, pale skin. 

But the ring remained.

* * *

For once, Hermione woke up earlier than Draco. She’d barely slept, running every thought she’d ever had through her mind to keep herself alert, but the pull of his warmth had eventually lulled her into a fitful sleep. 

Soft shadows painted the wooden floor, casting slivers of early morning light across the path she intended to take as soon as she could slip away. She’d fallen asleep in a nightgown, fully intending on going through with this ill-advised plan the next morning. 

Tip-toeing out of the room, checking once more over her shoulder to ensure Draco was still sound asleep, she slipped through the door and made her way down the long, imposing hallway. Reaching the stairs, she took them two at a time as quietly as she could. Down one flight, then the next, she stopped to look around, trying to find something familiar in the complicated puzzle of hallways and doors on either side of the landing. On a whim, she turned right, inching down the corridor on the main floor in search of the front door. It didn’t take her long, and she counted herself lucky that Draco had yet to come looking for her. 

Left hand wrapped around the wrought-iron handle, she took a deep breath, watching the gems of her engagement ring sparkle in the beams of sunlight before she pulled hard on the door.

But, nothing.

She tugged and turned and pulled and pushed, but it didn’t move even a centimetre. 

Nearly hysterical, Hermione pressed her toes against one door for leverage as she pulled on the other. 

Large, calloused hands she knew all too well gripped her waist, but they weren’t gentle in the way she’d come to know them. No, fingertips dug into her soft flesh, and she felt as though her very bones might crack under the pressure before she pulled her hand back with a gasp. 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, DRACO?” she roared, spinning out of his grip and pressing her back against the heavy wooden doors. When he didn’t answer, she felt a lone tear track down the curve of her cheek. Quieter this time, she shook her head. “What have you done?”

Opening his mouth to respond, he simply shut it again, trying once more before ending the same way. “You wouldn’t understand, Hermione.” His tone lacked even an edge of delicacy, and the harsh reminder that something was wholly not right made her stomach sink.

“I wouldn’t understand? Try telling me. I’m alone here, with only you, not even my memories to accompany me. Something happened. Something you haven’t told me. And now I find out I can’t even step foot outside of the  _ house?!”  _

Her heart was thumping so hard she could feel her pulse in her eardrums as her head began to spin. Trying to hold on, she took a deep breath, willing herself to stay upright as every little suspicious thing came crashing down around them. And then, in the blink of an eye, she followed, falling to her knees just before the door and succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion of her very state of being. 

* * *

Her head was in his lap, his fingers carding through her riotous curls as tears splashed across his cheeks. She couldn’t see much from where she was, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if the tears belonged to them both. 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m  _ so _ sorry. You have to believe me. I never meant for it to be this way. I just—I  _ needed _ you.”

Even with everything else still spinning through her mind, Hermione pushed herself up to sit next to her wizard, reaching forward to wipe away the tears carving paths down his cheeks. “Tell me, please. I just want to know.”

“I love you. Please, please believe me. I have loved you longer than you’ve known, and I will love you until I take my last breath. You are everything to me, and I found that out the hard way.”

Now she was even more confused, brow creasing as she leaned into his shaking form. It felt like something she should do, touching, easing his worry, but she still felt the spark of indignation at whatever it was he was hiding from her. Surely they could work through it. She loved him, too. He had to know that. “I love you, Draco, but you can’t keep things from me. It’s bad enough that my own mind has stored away every trace of anything familiar before this past year, but I can’t have you doing the same thing to me. You are supposed to be my partner, my lover, my one and only friend, and I need honesty above all else from you. So, please, love, just tell me what’s going on.”

Sucking in a deep breath between clenched teeth, he shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t tell you. You’d never—”

“I will. I promise,” she whispered, dusting a kiss across the rise of his cheek and pressing her forehead into his, relishing in the warmth afforded by his proximity. 

He sniffled. “You can’t promise me that. And it’s not so easy to tell. Will you—” he paused, finally drawing his eyes up to meet hers. “Will you let me show you?”

“Show me?”

As he tapped a finger against his temple, she realized what he was asking. Gulping, she nodded.

With his wand aimed firmly at her temple, hovering just over the skin, he whispered,  _ “Legilimens.” _

* * *

_ Dirt-caked nails peeked out from under a pristine white sheet. Draco leaned over the form wrapped in the linen, silent tears tracing the line of his jaw, pooling and falling faster with each heaving breath. He whispered something to whatever was under the sheet before pulling back and wrapping a hand around the covering. He ripped it off, and her breath caught as she watched him inspect her eerily still form. She was covered in dirt and blood, and every inch of her clothed body was stone-still.  _

* * *

_ She recognised his bed and herself lying amongst the sheets. But it wasn’t really her because she stood on the far side of the room and watched the scene unfold. Waving his wand over her body, now stripped bare, yet still covered in a layer of muck no spell seemed to wash away, he sobbed with each swish. Her chest remained still, no breath leaving her lungs.  _

* * *

_ She was still in the bed. Or, her body was, now tinged a shade of blue that seemed unnatural at best. A long, pale form was wrapped around her, arms clinging tight and words carried on wisps of breaths she couldn’t hear. A shimmer caught her eye, and she watched as Draco’s too thin fingers slipped the ring she still wore onto her rigid finger. Whatever he was whispering caused a soft golden glow to encircle the band, a tendril of golden magic reaching deep into his chest, winding around and shooting out to do the same to hers.  _

* * *

_ The bath engulfed her form. The tub’s sides were nearly too high for her to even see from the far side of the room. So she moved a step closer, watching on as Draco cleansed her body from head to toe. It was meticulous and thoughtful as he scrubbed every last hint of dirt from her skin. A light dusting of pink peeked between her freckles and the blueish grey had ebbed away, leaving only a soft hint of coloured flesh still slightly sallow.  _

* * *

_ Back in the bed, she watched as he spoke again, inching closer this time. He’d changed the sheets, not a speck of dirt marring the flawless green spread as tears trickled down his cheeks. The tree she remembered from her first moment of consciousness sat in the same corner of the room. _

_ He held her, whispering fragments of fraught promises. “Happy Christmas, Hermione. I’m glad to have you back. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. You’re part of me now, love, and I will protect you until the end of my life and pull you into the beyond along with me. I cannot live without you, Hermione. Please never leave me again.” _

* * *

The scenes fizzled and faded before she was pulled back into the present. Leaning back, her eyes grew wide as she processed what she’d just seen. 

She was dead.

She  _ is  _ dead—for all intents and purposes. She’d been magicked back to life by none other than the man who’d made her fall for him over the last year. The man who’d taken care of her, seen to her every need, and held her so close she felt nothing short of fragile.

No wonder, she mused. 

Gulping, Hermione looked at the shell of the man she thought she knew. Tear-stained cheeks and shaky palms stared back at her. 

“I don’t… I mean… You…” Thoughts were spinning and twirling too fast for her to keep up with, but one latched on that she just had to ask. “Does anyone else know? Is there anyone else who would care that I’m…  _ alive?” _

Grey eyes dropped to the floor, and nimble fingers traced runes into the cobblestone lining his potions room. “No one knows,” he whispered but said nothing else.

“The call the other day was that—”

“My father. He was sentenced to prison after the war, a wizarding prison I scarcely visit. Or, visited, rather, before I brought you back. He called because I missed my annual visit. If you knew him, or rather, you did know him, but if you had remembered, he’s a rather persistent man. It’s no mystery he gained access to a Floo simply to check up on me. He’s proficient in the ways of greasing palms to meet his own ends.”

“And I take it you didn’t tell him? Or anyone for that matter?” He shook his head. “Draco, is there… is there anyone who  _ should _ know?”

Frozen in place, sitting and waiting, he didn’t move an inch, so she asked again. This time, he lifted his eyes and clenched his jaw. “There are those who would care that you’re here, yes.”

Waiting for him to say anything else, Hermione grew impatient with the silence. “Who? Tell me who…  _ please.” _

“Harry Potter and Ron Weasley amongst many,  _ many _ others. You were loved, Hermione. By more than me. But they mourned you ages ago. They moved on and built their lives and only I was left to sit amongst the wreckage of my life without you. Only I was so shattered I thought I’d never be whole again. But then…” Reaching forward, he grasped her hands, idly spinning the ring that felt as though it weighed more with each passing second. “Then I got you back and I… I could never do that again. I couldn’t lose you, Hermione. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Blinking away tears, she watched as Draco spun the diamond over and over and over again, feeling his warmth sink into her chilled skin. “It was selfish of you to do this to me.” She meant that—she did—but at the same time, only a desperate man would make such a move, and she wondered if she would have done the same for him if everything he said was true. “I can’t eat like you. I can barely keep down a thing, and I’ve lost a few stone over the last stretch of months. I feel too thin for my body and water tastes like fine dust along my tongue when I try to swallow. Nothing hurts, but it doesn't feel good either—I don't  _ feel _ anything. Not warmth, not pain, nothing. Just… cold. I’m in this state of limbo within my own body and I have no idea who I truly am outside of what you’ve told me. I may have once been yours, and I still feel beholden to you, Draco, but I can’t… This isn’t me. These hands may be mine, and these legs may be as well, but it all feels foreign, as though I shouldn’t actually be here right now. I don’t know how else to explain this except… Except… an overwhelming sense of…  _ wrongness.” _

Warm tears seeped from her lids, cresting over the apple of her cheek and falling to the floor. A rough thumb swiped each and every one of them away as Draco leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry, love.”

They sat there like that for what felt like forever, barely breathing, drinking in the moment, and fitting the pieces of her life over the last few months into the puzzle she now felt she understood. 

When Draco pulled back, the stains on his cheeks were dry, his lips pursed, and a sad gleam tinged his silver eyes. Brandishing his wand, he muttered a soft spell and tapped the embellished band of her ring. Hermione felt the tingle of magic soak into her skin as she realised what he was doing. 

“I’ve been unfair to you, my love.” Cupping her cheek, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, then the shell of her ear, whispering, “This time, it’s your choice. You’re free to remove the ring if you so desire, but know that it ties your magical life force to my own, and if you break the link, you’ll never come back again.”

Stunned silent, Hermione sat on the cold stone floor as Draco rose and left the room in silence. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, spinning the ring over and over and over again. It could have been minutes, maybe hours, or even half a day before she finally rose and went to find him in the vast estate. She’d seen the way he looked when she was lying on the table covered in a blanket of white. A broken man. A fragment of his former self. If she’d felt half of what he’d appeared to, she thought she might have done it, too. She never wanted him to look that way again. 

But they were defying the very laws of nature day by day, and even living half a life, full of discomfort and ill feelings, she knew she couldn’t continue on as they had been.

* * *

He’d taken it better than she had imagined—all in stride with a contemplative look of understanding as she’d laid out their options. 

He would go first. 

A simple spell. A few seconds at most. Then, she would follow. 

With the wooden wand she’d held before pointed to his temple, a tear slipped down his cheek as he leaned in to place one final kiss against her shivering lips, sealing their fate with nothing more than a few whispers before he fell to a heap on the floor.

The next instant, her own delicate fingers held the gems she’d come to both love and hate over the course of her second life, gripping the ring tight before sliding it off.

All she saw in that instant was the brightest light she’d ever known. A warmth seeped into the very depths of her soul and somehow, someway, she knew he was there with her, too, wherever their next life had taken them. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks are in order for my alphas [@msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin) & [@mrsren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsren/pseuds/mrsren). Suspense is a genre I’m still finding my footing in and their input and lovely thoughts were invaluable to my creative process in this piece. Thank you as well to my clutch beta [@nucklearnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearnik/pseuds/nuclearnik). I seriously gave her negative time to beta this and she still came through and did a wonderful job whipping my words into shape. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for reading! Comments & kudos **always appreciated!**


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